


The Osmium Uprising

by IrenkaFeralKitty



Series: A Pirate’s Life [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Gen, Janson family, Pirate AU, Rise of the Empire Era, Slave Uprising, Wes Janson is a toddler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 00:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17012403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrenkaFeralKitty/pseuds/IrenkaFeralKitty
Summary: The Osmium Raiders emerge from the ashes of a new Imperial dungeon ship. Janson family pirate AU.





	The Osmium Uprising

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed fic.

A lone escape pod drifted through space, slowly tumbling end over end as inertia carried it along. The hull was dented and burned, the scorch marks left by blaster and laser fire marring what had been intricate, colorfully painted designs. The pod’s emergency beacon croaked out its pleas for help while the bright exterior lights began to flicker.

The beings inside the pod sat quietly, numbed into horrified silence by what they had barely survived. The only sounds in the pod where the soft snores and gurgles from the younglings tucked into tired arms and curled up in the meager seats, too small and young to understand how thoroughly their lives had been upended. 

No one reacted at first at the sudden mechanical racket that echoed through the ship. Nor did they do more than glance around when the dying pod shuddered. 

But then, “Someone’s found us.” 

Blond, of average height, average build, and with a face so generic the speaker was used to disappearing into the background as louder and bolder individuals stepped forward. His hand tightened on a metal hilt, a bladeless weapon long since drained of its remaining power. 

Beside him, a woman shifted in her seat, tiredly adjusting the toddler cradled in her thin, scarred arms. “Imperial?” she asked quietly. The man nodded, causing her to laugh bitterly. “Of course they are. Well, they’re in for a surprise if they think we’re going to come quietly.”

Carac fought the urge to fidget as their tractor beam drew the derelict escape pod into the hanger bay. His new uniform itched. The high collar left his skin red and irritated every time he took it off after his shift ended. Medical wouldn’t give him anything to treat it, telling him instead that he’d eventually get used to the fabric, and his shipmates had sneered the one time he’d mentioned it. 

Nothing about the Imperial Navy was like what he’d been expecting when he’d attended the Naval Academy. He’d still been a cadet the day the Republic fell and the Galactic Empire rose up. At first, the only changes had been terminology, color schemes, and their uniforms. The big policy and procedure changes hadn’t started to hit until he was about to graduate. In less than a week, everything he’d spent the last three years learning had been tossed out the window and replaced with something entirely new. Instead of earning a berth on a Republic cruiser with respectable grades, he’d bombed the new placement exam and assigned to a so-called dungeon ship.

A small shudder crawled up Carac’s spine at the thought of their cargo. He shouldn’t be here. None of them should. But what could he do? He’d sworn an oath to serve for five years and by the terms of the new Imperial Navy, his family guaranteed that service. If he left, or mutinied, or did anything but serve-

The pod dropped onto the hanger decking with a loud, dull thud. Their small contingent of stormtroopers, all personality-less clone troopers, circled the hatch, blasters armed and ready. 

(Carac had heard the clones were being phased out and it was one of the few things he was looking forward to. He’d heard that the clones were colorful and efficient, full of wry humor and snark, but from what he’d seen, they were as dull and dry as a newly manufactured droid. It was disturbing see such lifeless eyes in human faces.)

A tech scurried up to the pod, dragging a power cable to the hatch and quickly hooking it up, seeking to avoid Commander Chenel’s harsh criticism. The pod’s flickering exterior lights soon brighten and steadied as energy flooded into the drained power banks. 

“A good catch, I expect,” Chenel said conversationally. A sadistic smile crossed his face. “I imagine we’ve picked up some vagrant trash. The ludicrous paint scheme is quite distinctive. These so-called Flitters are no doubt fleeing their broken down wreck of a ship. We should be able find good use for these useless tramps.”

“Yes, sir,” Carac mumbled, knowing a response was expected, even if Chenel wasn’t actually listening. 

When the hatch lock cycled to green, indicating it had sufficient power to be opened, Chenel walked over, gesturing for Carac to follow. The waiting tech hovered next to the hatch release, ready to open it. 

“You, precede us,” Chenel barked at the closest stormtrooper, tapping his foot impatiently he waited. Once the trooper was positioned, blaster drawn, Chenel nodded at the tech, who activated the hatch. 

Carav recoiled as the stench of unwashed flesh and dank misery rolled out of the pod. From inside, several sets of eyes stared out at them. 

The stormtrooper stepped forward once the hatch door had cleared the pod’s docking ring. He kept his blaster trained on the two adults sitting at the very back of the pod and directly in front of the opening. Chenel followed at his usual leisurely pace, running a handheld scanner over the inhabitants of the small circular space. 

“They’re mostly children, sir,” Carac noted as he followed. Sure enough, seven or eight younglings, mostly human, watched them with frightened eyes. The two adults, a male and female human, were expressionless.

“Children are one of the Empire’s greatest assets,” Chenel said. His scanner suddenly beeped. A new predatory smile appeared. “We also have an escaped prisoner, it appears. You must have done something quite bad to earn a sentence on Akrit’tar,” he said to the woman. Then, casting a look around the pod, he declared, “You are all under arrest for violating the civil order by harboring a prisoner of the Empire and consorting with the lawless Flitters. Under the regulations laid down by Imperial Decree A-SL-4557.607.232, you are all sentenced to slavery and will be set to work on behalf of the Empire.”

Neither of the adults replied. They sat, faces blank as they studied the Imperial officers. Carac wasn’t surprised. The Imperial Decree Chenel had cited was only a few months old. Word of it hadn’t fully penetrated the Outer Rim. They probably didn’t realize just how much trouble they were in. They didn’t know there would be no appeal. 

The woman’s eyes flickered over to him. Cringing, Carac dropped his gaze to the floor. As much as he hated taking part in this, he couldn’t stop it.

A sudden harsh croaking snapped his gaze back up. Chenel and the trooper were standing rigid, limbs frozen as they choked. Chenel’s face was turning blue as his mouth gaped open, desperate for air. His eyes bulged in terrified confusion, minute spasms running through his body. The stormtrooper’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t drop his blaster rifle. Or couldn’t?

The man and woman stared stone faced at the Imperials. The man slowly raised a hand, fingers closing together as though pinching something. The sound of strangulation grew louder and louder- Then ceased with a decisive _ snap _ . The tension in the bodies of the other two Imperials vanished. As the light dimmed from Chenel’s eyes, Carac realized he was dead. 

The woman raised her hand, palm out, and the stormtrooper’s blaster rifle flew into her grip. She eased the child cradled to her chest into a sling of fabric hanging at her side, then stood, blaster rifle tucked up against her shoulder. The toddler blinked sleepily, small hands grasping at her clothes. 

Meanwhile, the man splayed his hand, fingers outstretched, and the bodies in front of Carac flew backwards, as limp as ragdolls. There was a clatter of falling armor as they collided with the stormtroopers still waiting outside and a loud outcry.

Terror crawled up Carac’s throat as he spotted the unpowered device in the man’s other hand. He couldn’t be a Jedi. They’d all been killed or arrested, hadn’t they? What would he be doing on an escape pod floating through space?

_ (Escaping the purge, obviously. He was running.) _

As the woman prowled past him, she paused, leaning towards him. “Be glad you flinched,” she whispered. “Be a good boy and do what we say, hm?” Then  she leaned back and cast a quick look at the young girl huddled in one of the seats. “Wait right here, Dani. Your uncle and I will handle this.”

Without waiting for a response, the woman left the pod. Blaster fire sounded almost immediately after. 

“What ship is this? How many crew?” the man, the Jedi, demanded as he rose to his feet. 

Carac swallowed, then found words tumbling from his mouth. “This is the  _ Perfidious, _ a  _ Kiltirin _ -class dungeon ship, one-hundred and fifty meters in length with a crew complement of seventy-five officers and enlisted, and about fifty security wardens.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why are there wardens?”

Cringing again, Carac dropped his gaze. “Because this ship is transporting Imperial prisoners to a new mining outpost.”

The Jedi didn’t look surprised. His powers had probably already informed him of the nature of this ship. “Are you proud to be a slaver?”

Carac shook his head and felt his shoulders round in shame. There it was. The word he’d been avoiding. 

“Good. Then we can probably let you live. Come along.” The Jedi seized Carac’s arm and dragged him off the ship. 

The scene in the hanger bay was horrifying. Bodies lay scattered all over, smoke wafting off the plasma burns on the stormtroopers’ armor. The woman was prowling around the pod, one arm wrapped around the child and the other trailing the end of the blaster rifle in front of her. The only survivor was the technician, who was curled up into the fetal position as he wept. 

“I thought there was a chance we might need him,” she said. 

“Dani can watch him.”

“After what the Empire just did to our family? Her parents? Her brothers and sisters?” The woman let out a bitter laugh. “She might just shoot him. And I certainly won’t tell her she would be wrong to do so.”

“Either way.” The man started going over the bodies, efficiently patting them down and extracting comlinks, rank cylinders, and other bits and pieces. “This is a slave ship.”

Hissing, the woman spun and leveled the rifle at Carac. “Your Empire is officially in the business of using slaves? You’re reprehensible.”

“No, I didn’t-“ Carac swallowed, nervously raising his hands. “I went to the Academy to serve the Republic. Only, the Republic fell and the Empire rose up. My family put everything on the line to send me to the Academy, they made promises- I couldn’t leave, not without putting them in danger.”

“Kay,” the man said, “the only way out is to take the ship. He can help us. One way or another.”

The woman, Kay, finally gave a grudging nod. “What will it be, then? Are you going to help us? Or will my husband need to rip the information we need straight from your mind?”

“If- if you’re running,” Carac replied, “then you have to promise to let me come with you. If the Empire found out I helped you take over the ship… my family won’t…”

“I suppose we can. If you don’t turn on us.” Kay lowered her rifle and turned slightly to address the Jedi. “If you can free the slaves, we’ll have the numbers to overwhelm the crew. I can take our new friend and secure the bridge.”

“That sounds serviceable. I’ll take the technician with me.” Taking out one of his stolen comlinks, the man fiddled with it, then tossed it to Kay. “This frequency doesn’t appear to have any traffic on it. Keep me informed of your progress. And perhaps leave Wes with Dani? He’s already been in one firefight.”

“As if this counted,” Kay sniffed. Pausing to give Carac a hard look, she disappeared into the pod and returned a minute later without her child. “Now,” she barked, “lead me to the bridge.”

* * *

It felt like barely any time had passed when Carac found himself bent over the Operations console on the bridge, numbly unlocking the slave quarters and directing the maintenance and cleaning droids to dispose of the bodies of his former shipmates. 

The journey through the ship kept replaying itself in his mind. The long walk through the corridors, terrified that Kay would tire of staring at his back and would decide to shoot him. The speed with which she did shoot anyone they came across. The way their path from the hanger bay was marked with dead bodies. Kay may have been short in stature, but she had the rage of an entire battalion of Mandolorian warriors and enough skill with a blaster to carry out her plan.She’d slaughtered the bridge crew in about fifteen seconds, stepping out from behind him and laying waste with frighteningly precise shots. Kay had then seated herself down in the captain’s chair after shoving the body aside, laying her rifle across her knees like a scepter. 

“Ressik, darling, we’ve secured the bridge. How are you?” she purred into her comlink as she leaned back into the cushioned chair. 

After a few heartbeats of silence, the Jedi answered. “The first set of slaves have been freed. There are Republic naval officers amongst them. I’ve directed some your way to help secure the ship. The rest of us are proceeding to the next area.”

“Wonderful! I’ll leave you to it, my dear.” Turning off the comlink, Kay rotated her chair to look at Carac. “And how goes securing the ship from our end?”

Carav swallowed at her sickly-sweet tone. “I’m securing doors along the- the Jedi’s route. He shouldn’t run into much trouble. You’ve both, um, moved very quickly. I’m not sure the very many of crew know what’s happening.”

“That’s marvelous. We couldn’t have done this without you.”

Kay beamed and Carac felt his gut twist again. He was a traitor to his uniform. His awful, hated uniform. 

“While we wait for our new bridge crew, tell me about this ship and its destination. What, exactly, is a dungeon-class ship?”

“It’s a mobile prison. I’ve… heard… that some are used for interrogations. Forceful ones.” Carac stared down at his control panel, hating how steady his voice was. “The  _ Perfidious _ has a crew of seventy-five and about fifty wardens managing a pris- a slave population of one-thousand two-hundred and fifty. Armaments consist of five turbolaser batteries amd a single tractor beam projector. We’re en route to a new Imperial mining operation on the planet Storia 7. Apparently, the operation administrators are insisting they need a larger labor force to extract enough ores from the mines to justify keeping it open.”

Leaning back in her appropriated chair, Kay propped an arm on the arm rest and tapped her lips thoughtfully. “So the mine is teetering? It just needs one push to either keep it open or close it for good? How interesting.” Kay studied Carac for a moment, her finger resting against her lips. She rotated her chair back around. “Very interesting,” she murmured. 

An alarm suddenly sounded and lights flashed on the Operations panel. Cursing, Carac’s fingers flew as he dug for information. 

“Something must have gone wrong with freeing the slaves. The wardens are reporting a revolt and requesting help from Security.”

“Can we tie them up somehow, keep Security from jumping into the fray?”

“Maybe. They have their own overrides, but if I can fake a hull breach near the cells, the automatic airlocks should engage and block their path.”

Kay leapt out of the captain’s chair, slinging her rifle up onto her shoulder as she hurried over to the console. “Can we see the responding Security teams?”

“Yes, here.” With a quick gesture, Carav shifted the display with the moving Security teams to the next station. A second gesture silenced the alarm. “This ship is designed to either vent or seal the slave quarters section by section as a last measure resort in case of an uncontrollable riot. I can trigger a false alarm for in the surrounding sections. The wardens will report the error but it’ll take time to unseal the bulkheads.”

“And that will give Ressik and his supporters time to respond,” Kay realized. She thumbed her comlink back on. “What’s your location, dear? Security has been alerted.”

The sound of blaster fire erupted from the small comlink. “We noticed!” the Jedi shouted. After a rapid exchange of fire, his voice returned. “Level 3, cell block Cresh. I have about a dozen armed fighters and we’re stripping weapons off every Imperial we come across to arm more.”

“We’re going to fake a hull breach in block Grek. That will keep the main group of stormtroopers off you for a short while.”

“There’s a weapons locker in block Dorn,” Carac noted. His screen suddenly flashed red. He nodded in satisfaction. “Bulkheads are deploying. One team got past them but the others are locked out.”

“Did you get all that?” Kay asked into her comlink. 

“Yes. We’ll handle things down here. See if you can raise the team I sent to the bridge. They’re being led by a Bothan named Gresh Mar’Lya. I haven’t been able to contact them and they had this frequency when they left.”

“Will do. Stay safe.” Kay and the Jedi deactivated their comlinks at the same time and the woman gave Carac a grim look. “Is there any chance control of the ship could be routed away from the bridge?”

“There’s a secondary command center near engineering,” Carac answered. Frowning, he shifted to another terminal, leaving the display showing the slave quarters running. “No one’s access it at the moment. It does appear, though, that there have been several attempts to query the bridge. We should assume they’ll try to take control soon.”

“Can we stop them?”

“Not easily.” The station displaying the slave quarters suddenly pinged. Someone was attempting to shut down the false hull breach alert. Swearing under his breath, Carac darted back over and began to type furiously at his station, quickly redirecting the slicing attempt to a maze of subsystems he’d thrown together. When he finally halted the intrusion effort, he sighed in relief and sagged slightly against the station. 

Kay let out a sudden clucking sound. “You look miserable,” she scolded. “You should take that tacky uniform off. It’s not like you need it.”

Carac froze. The itch at his neck sudden returned with a vengeance. What was he doing right now? He was helping this woman sabotage his own ship and murder his shipmates. He was… he was freeing slaves and killing slavers. By breaking his oath to serve and protect the Empire and the will of the Emperor.

_ He’d never wanted to serve an Empire _ . _ Everything about this ship was wrong _ .  _ And he wanted no part in it _ .

The realization was like being splashed with cold water. Jerking upright, Carac ripped his rank insignia and cylinder off his jacket, dropping them on the console. With his other hand, he tore open his jacket and sighed as the irritating fabric was yanked off his skin. 

Clucking her tongue again, Kay grabbed the back of the uniform neck and helped him drag it off. Suddenly freed from the physical and metaphorical weight, Carac looked at her for a moment, standing straight and tall, then dove back into his work with a vengeance. “I’m cutting off the life support to as much of the ship as I can. See if you can contact the beings the Jedi freed to work the bridge. I can guide them around the affected areas.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” Looking pleased, Kay fingered the discarded jacket for a moment, rubbing the harsh fabric between her fingers. She sniffed, slung it around her shoulders, then returned to the captain’s chair. This ship would be theirs, one way or another. 

* * *

As the  _ Perfidious _ sailed serenely through normal space, its path was marked by a macabre trail.

“This isn’t right,” the Jedi murmured unhappily. Despite the exhaustion on his face, he had refused the offer of a chair and stood rocking on the balls of his feet next to the captain’s chair, hands behind his back. Carac could see the way he was rapidly, almost anxiously, squeezing his hands into fists over and over again.

Kay looked unconcerned as she bounced her now awake and alert toddler in her lap. “We gave the crew a chance to reject the Empire and the overwhelming majority of them refused. I’m certainly not going to tell over a thousand freed slaves they’re wrong for wanting to punish their captors.”

“This isn’t punishment.”

Waving a worn plush toy as her child, Kay snorted. “It’s better than they deserve. Only a handful were spaced. The rest were already dead when the airlocks cycled. The ones that were spaced were the ones who went out of their way to torture and torment those they’d imprisoned. You’ve heard the stories. You know what they did.”

“This isn’t justice. It’s murder.”

“They why don’t you go arrest them?” Bopping the now giggling toddler in the face, Kay cast a quick look at her husband. “I know how seriously you took your position with the Coruscant Peace Force, but those days are far behind us. The only justice available for us now is what we create. We don’t have prisons or judges or the means to provide rehabilitation. It’s just us and the justice of the Void. Besides, leaving the Imps alive puts everyone all at risk.”

Looking profoundly unhappy, the Jedi fell silent and continued his anxious movement. Biting his lip, Carac hunched over his console and tried to block out the rest of the bridge. If he pretended he was doing normal operations duties, he could pretend the crew manning the other stations where the men and women he’d been serving with, and that the airlock indicators flashing all over his console didn’t herald the another living body being thrown off the ship.

A holoimage of the former Republic officer the Jedi had freed flickered to life next to Kay’s chair. Carac fought back another flinch. Mar’Lya had nearly killed them all. It had taken Kay nearly an hour of sweet-talking to convince him the mass escape wasn’t some kind of bizarre Imperial trick and that her husband Ressik truly was a Jedi. As it was, the Bothan had claimed the secondary commander center and had his followers poised to seize command of the ship at the first hint of treachery.

The blue holo looked decidedly grumpy. Folding his arms over his chest, Mar’Lya let out a low growl. “We’re approaching Storia 7. If this plan doesn’t work, I’ll see to your deaths myself.”

“If this plan doesn’t work, you’ll hardly have time to try.” Kay smiled sweetly, looking far too innocent considering how high her kill count was and how unconcerned she was with the raging mob of freed slaves in the lower decks. “Think positive thoughts! We’re going to win our freedom even if we have to poison the soil of that planet by drowning it in blood.”

The statement brought all activity on the bridge to a brief halt. Carac didn’t doubt she was completely serious. 

“We’ll be in orbit in fifteen minutes,” Carac reported. 

“Wonderful!” Kay scooped up her son and passed him to the Jedi. Then she ran light fingers over her carefully coiffed hair and the jacket she’s taken from Carac. From the waist up, she looked the very model of a proper Imperial officer. “Mar’Lya?”

The Bothan huffed, then drew and checked over a blaster. “Yes, yes,” he growled. “The planetary overseer will not escape.”

“It would be helpful to take him alive, but it’s hardly required. Good luck. We’ll take care of the stormtroopers and artillery.”

“You’d better.” With that final growl, Mar'Lya vanished.

Kay looked out at the forward viewport. “By the end of today, we will own that planet. And who knows what we’ll do once we’ve convinced the Empire to abandon that world?” She laughed, cold and menacing. “Who knows, indeed. One way or another, the Empire will pay for what it's done.”


End file.
